The Hazards of Studio Life

All in a days work: I knelt on a tack which left a nice little hole in my knee, nearly missed mistaked a tube of acrylic paint for lip balm, burnt a large patch in my floor with a soldering iron (on top of a tire-sized puddle of previously-spilt wax), and now I'm trying to remove a chunk of glue from my hair.

I'm ready for a break that includes a clean floor and Muppet movies.

Happy Thanksgiving to us!

Do you ever find yourself in those moments when all the seemingly disparate things that you love collide into one atomic bomb of sheer goodness? Well, that bomb went off for me last Friday night. A random collection of friends and I went out for Ethiopian food at a neighboring restaurant. A couple that I was with had befriended the restaurant owners as they live directly behind the restaurant-- and they're just those fantastic kind of people who take interest in those they walk by.

Oddly, for a Friday evening, the place was empty by 9pm, except for our motley crew. After a feast of curried goat and lentils sopped up by tangy injera, the lights went dim. A South African dj began setting up his table and lights. He came by with small sheets on which we could make our musical requests: regaetone, house, South African, West African, and old school. My friend had spent time in South Africa and swapped some Zulu words back and forth with the spin doctor. With a huge smile, he collected our requests. Donning headphones and the serious pose of a true mix master, he produced a veritable feast of tunes that propelled us onto the dance floor. The Ethiopian wife of one of the chef's came out and danced to C&C Music factory with us. In between Michael Jackson and Enya, we talked to the proprietors, asking them how they found our midwestern city.

Disco lights, new friends, an exchange of cultures- it was truly a taste of heaven.

That's my studio mate, Lisa. She's making sugar-cast little girls. Sometimes she has moments when she feels that all sweetness in the world has turned sour. So she stabs her sugar babies.

The other picture is our crew on Halloween. Previously, Ann-Maree was dressed up as crazy headress lady, Chakia. Too bad there's no photo of that. I'm a sculpture professor that I TA for. Very convincing, let me tell you.

Here are some pics from an opening I had with some fellow TX artists.

Who do the voo-doo that you do-- so well!

Pictured here with a visiting artist, Chakia, a sculptor from NY. I had to hide in the corner of a studio to get my giggly smile to go away before I met with her. Doubled over with silent, painful laughter, I did some cheek excercises until the threat of an outburst passed.

As my friend Ann-Maree described the artist's elaborate accessory-- "Just picture, it's like you wrapped 20 dresses from an African thrift store around your head." I kept dreaming up other articles I wanted to stuff in there-- I decided tube socks dangling from each side, like floppy bunny ears would be pretty funny. Or she could pay homage to destructive tornados and have pieces of siding, perhaps a tree branch jutting out.

And yes, the party's only upstairs. Below the voodoo mama headdress and African printed fabric that was knotted into a top, she wore a navy blue painter's jump suit and paint-splattered Vans. So, somehow, she manages to get paint while balancing a whole wardrobe on her neck.

If only her work was as interesting as her get-up. But that's a tough act to match.

Oh Maya! The semester began with one of those savory moments when you realize that you're reaping the rewards from simply being where you're meant to be. We got to help install a Maya Lin show at a museum here. This one, where we sit like band members, is made of all 2x4's. Lots o' drilling and meticulously puzzle-piecing the smaller tiles-- and photo op's.

Then, we got to be best friends with Maya! We skipped down the sidewalk, ice cream cones in hand. If only. But I can tell you a few insider secrets about Maya. She doesn't like "esoteric" potato chips-- the ones fancy delis give you with spices sprinkled on top. She does like, perhaps only for nostalgia sake, White Castle hamburgers. When we went out to dinner with her after the opening, she had the restaurant serve everyone White Castle-esque burgers, except these tasty bites were made with Kobe steak. And, she has a little chin. If I were that fruit vendor in Amelie, I'd make a Frenchy rhyming song with the phrase, "Maya Lin! Little Chin!"

She also thinks collaboration, mainly b/w artists and architects, is way overrated. I found that interesting-- and refreshingly honest. She's communicates clearly and simply, like a middle school science teacher-- the ones you could listen to for hours. Simple curiosity generates all of her work, leading her to investigate geographical forms and translate them into forceful poetry. Unnh! Go Maya.